


gonna chase you outta earth

by questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Bottom Yondu, Chases, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Self-indulgent smut, Top Kraglin, and kraglin takes full advantage of that, dom!yondu, sub!kraglin, yondu is basically like a cat with twinkly objects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 04:16:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: Yondu’s standing, leather greatcoat billowing behind him and his arrowing singing  hot and deadly through the Sakaarans in front of him. An arrogant smirk curls his lips, the pulsing glow of the lines in his implant lighting him up like some kind of unholy demon. Kraglin looks at him and wants.Where Kraglin hatches a plan to get Yondu's attention, and it works even better than he'd hoped.





	gonna chase you outta earth

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Write_Like_An_American's brilliant fic Punch-Ups and Lice and Everything Nice, http://archiveofourown.org/works/12452649/chapters/28338027  
> where after I read I wondered what would happen if Kraglin wasn't entirely and completely wrong about one of the ways he went about wooing Yondu. :3 This bit of mostly smut is the result.
> 
> EDIT: Finally got around to giving this the edit it desperately needed >.> and added bits too.

Yondu’s standing broad, leather greatcoat billowing behind him and his arrow singing hot and deadly through the Sakaarans in front of him. An arrogant smirk curls his lips, the pulsing glow of the lines in his implant lighting him up like some kind of unholy demon. The skirmish between the Ravagers and the Kree over whatever buried bauble is just past the battlegrounds has turned into what would be a bloodbath, if there was any blood spilled. Instead, there's only the slow crumpling of Sakaaran after Sakaaran as Yondu leaves each one neatly run through, a unique signature that will leave no one in doubt of who exactly was responsible for the carnage here. 

Kraglin looks at him and _wants._

This moment, this job, is far from the first time he's felt this and he knows he's not the only one. Kraglin's been part of Yondu’s crew long enough to know he’s far from the first to nurse a titch more than a respectful awe for the great Captain Udonta. Practically half the crew wants to warm his bed. Far as Kraglin can tell though, Yondu sticks to bot hookers or bar flings when they go planet-side. 

It’s not like Kraglin can’t understand that – spending nights with general crew tends to spiral down into accusations of favoritism, and he respects that. It’s why he’s waited so long to do anything about the fluttering tendrils rooting themselves deep in his chest. There's rumors though, the occasional night spent with one of those in his closest circle and that's enough to give Kraglin hope. 

Especially now…. now, Kraglin’s made bridge crew, worked and knifed and eeled his way through the ranks to be first mate. Means he might have a chance now, however slim, and he clings to that.  Someone like Yondu though – well, he isn’t the kind of person you’d just wheedle your way up to and clumsily proposition. No, Kraglin needs to find a hook, some way to make Yondu see him as more than just another crew member. 

Problem being of course, what exactly that should be.

Careful observation of Yondu’s interactions with the crew leave him with a nothing remotely helpful. He always seems to disappear when he’s off finding his planet-side lovers, and so short of trying to stalk his over-wary captain he’s going to have to try another tack. After a fruitless few weeks, he decides to do what he probably should have done in the first place and starts studying Yondu alone. 

It works in Kraglin's favor, how people always seem to overlook him lankily slouching in corners. No one notices much when he memorizes Yondu’s druthers, the way he never leaves food on his plate, how he compulsively flips his coat up and fingers his arrow.  Everyone may know about the collection of toys and knick knacks that are carefully stuck to Yondu’s dashboard, but Kraglin manages to snag a peak at the sprawling collection that’s taking up shelves in Yondu’s room. He sees the way Yondu’s eyes hone in on what he spots a new one he wants, tracks it greedily. He sees the aborted jerks forward Yondu makes when some target dances away from him, how he coils stocky muscles tight before all but pouncing on what he wants. 

There’s something too, in the way he can toys idly with his marks. Kraglin steadfastly ignores the way the thought of it, of Yondu doing that to _him_ , thrills and tingles in his gut but he can't help but want to be the thing Yondu is grasping for – and stars help him, he’s gonna figure out some way to get what he wants. 

 

Finally, Kraglin has a plan. They’re going planet-side today, and it’ll be the perfect opportunity to test it. Most of the crew isn’t around for Yondu to keep up appearance for and there’s no job to distract his attention. Worst that could happen, Kraglin figures, is he’ll get a thorough chewing out, maybe a few days in the brig, and is that really so bad compared to what he might gain? 

There’s a rhythm for how these liberty days normally go, and Kraglin runs it over obsessively in his head as they shuttle down to the surface. Yondu will release the Ravagers, who will promptly scatter to the bot-brothels and betting houses. Yondu will saunter through whatever passes for a marketplace, ostensibly to peruse for any trouble before making off for his own enjoyments.  Really though, he uses the chance to pick up bits and baubles that catch his fancy, useless doodads created purely to spark enjoyment. The kind of things that no slave would be allowed to own. 

This jaunt is a tradition for Yondu. It’s at that moment Kraglin’s going to put his plan into action. 

 

Kraglin manages to stay off the captain's radar until Yondu’s stopped at some stall full of twinkly trinkets. He’s avariciously eying one in particular, a swooping rose crystal-encrusted shell of some sort with softly rounded edges. As per his normal pestering bartering tactics, Yondu expresses his interest in something on the entire other side of the stall first, slowly wearing down the stall keeper’s patience and good nature until they’re about ready to offer him anything just to get him to go away. 

It’s then Kraglin brushes past him and casually pockets the figurine, plonking a credit chip for the listed value down on the counter. The Ravager in him winces at having to pay full market price for anything but he grimly buckles it down in the knowledge that if this works, it’ll be full worth it. 

Blood rushes dizzy and tingling, adrenaline flooding through his limbs as Kraglin makes deliberate eye contact with a flabbergasted Yondu. He twists his face into the most taunting smirk his beaky features will make, thrusts his chin forward in an unspoken _So? Whacha gonna do about it?_ and then turns and takes off through the crowd. 

He can hear Yondu’s outraged bellow of, “The fuck, _Obfonteri!”_ but he doesn’t turn to look behind him, just weaves his way through the busily milling crowd, heading steadfastly towards more deserted and sketchy parts of town. 

Yondu’s whistle is starting up behind him, and Kraglin knows he must be clearing a path through the mob with the deadly thrum of an arrow over his shoulder. Shaking his head he pushes down the heat that rises through him at the thought of Yondu narrow-eyed and fierce, all that power and focus honed in and tracking towards Kraglin _._

He’s skinny, good at eeling his way around and that with his carefully planned knowledge of the market layout means he manages to stay ahead of Yondu until the streets start to clear. Then Kraglin ducks into one of the near deserted side passages, pulse thudding giddily as he works to keep the tremble from his hands. 

The noise of the crowd behind him subsides into a dull roar, the only constant the low warbling whistle that means that Yondu hasn’t sheathed his arrow. Kraglin speeds up, in all but a flat out run now, can hear the footsteps behind him speeding up too and then he turns a corner and nearly breaks his nose on a flat grey featureless wall. It’s a dead end, the metal too smooth to climb, the turn-off too far back for him to retrace his steps. 

There’s nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide and Kraglin doesn’t want to. This is what month of careful watching and plotting and needing have led him to and he turns around slowly, heart rising in his throat. 

Yondu’s standing there, silhouetted against the fading light. His arrow twists in lazy vermillion over his shoulder guard and he looks unholy, deadly, and it makes Kraglin so hard he can barely keep himself upright. 

The silence is strung taunt, suspended between them for a minute before Yondu says low and rough, “You wanna explain yourself, boy?” 

Kraglin swallow hard against a dry throat, opens his mouth but want is winding around his tongue, making it heavy and useless. Yondu stalks closer, and Kraglin may have a good four or five inches on him but he feels paralyzed when Yondu looks at him like that, the focus of all that intent. 

The trinket falls from Kraglin’s numb fingers, rolls to a rattling stop between them. Yondu scoops it up smoothly, tucks it into one of the pocket in his greatcoat but doesn’t stop. He's moving closer and closer towards Kraglin, who stumbles backwards until he collides with the wall behind him. Some deep-buried instinct in his hindbrain makes him jerk his neck to one side, baring it as he looks down and away. His pride wants to stop, say something but he can’t, just lets out a wordless whimper as the heat and bulk of Yondu crowds up into him. 

“Well, boy?” Yondu roughs out, voice like hot gravel as his hand comes up to pinch Kraglin’s chin between calloused blue fingers and drag it around. “If you wanted my attention, you got it.” 

Kraglin lets him, hand hanging at his side. His bones going jelly-like at the demand in Yondu’s voice, and it punches another whimper out of him, high and submissive in the back of his throat. Yondu blinks, disconcerted, and then then his eyes narrow minutely and as the seconds drag on a slow, dirty smirk of realization is crawling over his face. His hand closes tighter on Kraglin, studying him, and then he’s reaching down with his other hand to mold a confident palm around Kraglin’s dick. Inhaling sharp and shocky, Kraglin’s hips rut forward into Yondu’s grip. 

“Thassit, boy,” Yondu croons low and coaxing, “This what you wanted? Weren’t really trying to steal from under me, were ya?” 

Kraglin nods frantic, as much as he can with his face still held tight in Yondu’s grip. 

“Runnin’ from me like that, spreading yourself against the wall here, all belly-up and vulnerable?” Yondu’s slowly massaging his handful, and Kraglin’s lightheaded, knees threatening to buckle underneath him as everything in him helplessly narrows to Yondu’s hand, his voice. 

“You want this? Wanna _fuck_ me?” Yondu’s voice is dropping lower, and his hand's toying with Kraglin’s buckles, teasing, and Kraglin will do anything, _anything._

“Yeah you do, doncha?” Yondu pauses and smirks.  “Think I’m gonna give it t’you.” 

Kraglin falls himself helplessly forward, straining towards Yondu, and he needs this, needs this so badly. Yondu hooks a foot behind his knee, pushes him down onto the dirty alley street, and Kraglin doesn’t care, doesn’t care about anything except Yondu. His legs buckle and then he’s keeling backwards and staring up as Yondu straddles him, lower himself until he’s settled on top of Kraglin

“Good boy, just let me, thassit,” Yondu straddling him, grinding slow and leisurely on his crotch, rolling his hips slow and effortlessly dominant. “Gonna fuck me like I want, aren’t ya?”

Kraglin works his throat, manages to gather up enough wetness to eke out, “Yessir, _anything_ sir, _please–“_

Yondu chuckles, dirty and arrogant. “Yeah you are, gonna get me all loose, slide in like you was made for me.” 

He’s pulling a tube of something slick from some pocket in his coat, and before Kraglin can devote brain cells to puzzling that out Yondu’s unzipping his pants, bracing himself over Kraglin as he flicks the cap open and reaches behind him to drizzle it over his hole. 

“C’mon, boy,” he growls, hot and sour into Kraglin’s face as he tugs impatiently at one of Kraglin’s nerveless hands, bringing it up and around. 

Fucking a single finger in slow and shaky, Kraglin adds another when Yondu snarls in his face. Yondu’s loosening around him, and he adds a third, head spinning with the knowledge that this is happening, that’s it’s really Yondu over him fucking himself back onto Kraglin’s fingers. 

“Like that, yeah,” Yondu’s grinding back, trying to make Kraglin’s knobby fingers hit his sweet spot. “C’mon, thas enough, need more.”

Kraglin moans, but before he can try and screw in a fourth finger Yondu’s adding, “Gonna take your cock now.” 

Kraglin’s groin throbs, and Yondu knocks him out of the way, grabs him with a greedy hand as he lowers himself down with a satisfied groan. 

It’s tight and hot and wet and _perfect_ and Kraglin exhales soundlessly, staring up at Yondu’s face all triumphant and satisfied. 

He rides him, rides him like this is his right, like Kraglin’s made to give him what he wants and Kraglin lets him. His body is flushing hot and dizzy and he can’t think, and Yondu’s moving on top of him, and Kraglin’s floating and his whole world is Yondu, wrapped tight and slick around him. 

His knot starts plumping up, teasing at the edge of Yondu’s rim every time he settles himself down and Kraglin tries to grunt out a warning, pushes weakly at the the jut of Yondu’s hips.

“Donchu _fuckin dare,”_ Yondu growls at him, “Thas _mine,_ wantchu locked to me and filling me full,” and Kraglin’s whining high and tight and he’s rutting his hips helplessly up into Yondu and he’s swelling, and _oh god_ everything around him is cracking and sparking and trembling apart underneath Yondu and it’s perfect, he never wants to be anywhere else ever again.

He comes so hard he almost blacks out, vision going spotty and fuzzy as he clings onto consciousness with his fingertips. Yondu’s coming around him too, stripping the fuzz on his belly with white as he grinds himself down onto Kraglin’s knot and grits, “Feel good, boy? I feel good, locked around ya tight, filling my belly all up with you?” 

Shivers are helplessly waving through Kraglin’s body and he gazes blearily up at Yondu, claws needily at his skin as he ruts his knot weakly into him over and over. As they come down Yondu sprawls forward, lets all his plush and chunk settle over Kraglin, his weight grounding him through the trembling.

“Uh huh, thas right, being a good boy for me aint'cha” Yondu croons gentle into Kraglin’s ear, “Gonna take you back t’the ship, have you eat me out, get me loose and sloppy so I c’n take you again ‘n spend the night like that, you locked in me.” 

It’s more than Kraglin could have dreamed, and he bobs his head in besotted agreement, feels his muscles melting submissively into the ground as Yondu smirks against his face. It may be a Ravager’s way, to always be grasping for more, but right now Kraglin couldn’t ask for anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are love and fuel, please leave them <3


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